


baby when you’re gone (i realize i’m in love)

by 4ureyesonly28



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Bartender Niall Horan, Fashion Designer Louis, Fashion Student Louis, Inspired by Music, M/M, Music Student Harry Styles, Music Student Liam, Pining, Roommates, Songfic, Zayn is kinda there but also not, niall has secrets, they've got it bad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-19
Updated: 2019-07-19
Packaged: 2020-06-25 07:16:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19740832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/4ureyesonly28/pseuds/4ureyesonly28
Summary: Harry recently moved to London to study music. He doesn’t know he has a crush on the charismatic fashion student Louis, who just so happens to be his flatmate. Everything is fine until Louis leaves to spend a long weekend with his family.Inspired by When You’re Gone by Bryan Adams feat. Melanie C.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> I'm gonna be honest, there was a point when I thought this fic might never see the light of day. So I need to thank my beta [Lynda](https://wait4ever.tumblr.com/), for once again stepping in and helping me out with this.  
> A huge thank you also to [Roni](https://reminiscingintherain.tumblr.com/), who brit picked this for me! The two of you are absolutely fantastic! <3
> 
> Thank you also to Veronika and Sarah who read this and gave me feedback before I even thought about publishing it. Veronika, even though she's not into love stories at all, and Sarah, even though she has absolutely no idea who these people are.  
> An honorary mention goes to [Sam](https://gothpanic.tumblr.com/), who helped me English, when I couldn't English anymore. And of course everyone else who cheered me on! 
> 
> I know the chapters are kind of short, so I'm posting all of it right away.  
> [This](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_W2jONIjrM0) is the song that inspired this fic, in case you don't know it! 
> 
> (I also have to thank B, who beta'd this fic for a while, even though we don't talk anymore. If you see this and you do wanna talk, you know how to reach me.)

Harry had thought of himself as an ordinary boy all of his life. He grew up in a normal house with his lovely mother and sister and his stepfather. He was fairly good in school, always well behaved even if his teachers described him as somewhat “cheeky”. He was charming enough to get away with most things, but didn’t depend on that ever. Until the point when he moved to London for Uni, the only thing that had kept his life from being what he thought of as ordinary was that he discovered he was attracted to boys in secondary school. He struggled a little with that, like anybody who figures out that they’re not straight. “Not straight” was also the only label he was really comfortable with for the time being.

Ultimately, he decided not to worry about it too much. Somehow his view on life was carefree, even though he took most things seriously. There were just things that he couldn’t change and this was one of them. It took him about a year of inner conflict to come to that conclusion and another half year until he came out to his mum, who was even more accepting than he’d imagined in his wildest dreams. The majority of his family didn’t know and there was always a bit of an itch to tell them whenever they asked about possible grandchildren or even just a girlfriend, but he just strained a smile their way and changed the subject. After these questions, he always closed in on himself for a while and Gemma covered for him without fail. He got her a “sister of the year” award for her birthday.

It was a little weird to remember sometimes that he wasn’t out to everyone because he was so comfortable being himself around the few people who knew about him. He didn’t have many friends in school, but he’d grown up with the neighbour’s daughter Emma, and she was really the only one he needed. They were best friends in a way that worked with seeing each other everyday, but he was relieved to find out it also worked if they only Facetimed once a week. That had been their routine for the past three months and they were slowly settling into it. Emma went to University for a medical degree in Manchester; Harry had somehow gotten into The Royal Academy of Music – don’t ask him how, he doesn’t know. Harry and Emma talked every Sunday for at least three hours and they spent at least half an hour every week telling each other how much they missed one another. They texted every day with their random thoughts and pictures of things that reminded them of each other. It worked and Harry thanked the universe every single day for that.

He was also thankful for the opportunity to study at the RAM. At least he tried to remind himself of that on this taxing Thursday afternoon in the driest lecture he’d yet to experience. His professor was standing at the desk in front of the class reading words off the PowerPoint presentation behind him. Said presentation would be emailed to everyone in the course after the lecture, so Harry could honestly just go home and read it himself. He did have an exceptional auditory memory, so it probably didn’t hurt to hear someone else tell him what he needed to know for the exam, but the professor’s voice was so plain and his inflection was so boring…Harry scribbled in the margin of the notepad he kept on his desk just to have something on it and thought about how the mundanity of the professor cancelled out everything he could bring up in favour of this particular course. If attendance weren’t mandatory, none of the students would’ve been here, that’s for sure. Harry continued scribbling and writing fragments of song lyrics in his notepad. He was almost startled when people started getting up and leaving the auditorium. He quickly stuffed his things in his backpack and scrambled out of the room, calling out a quick goodbye to the professor. Some people eyed him like he was trying to suck up to the faculty, but Harry didn’t care. It was the polite thing to do and if his mum had taught him anything, it was to always be polite and kind to the people around him. A little smile tugged at the corners of his mouth at the thought of his family and he took a deep breath as he stepped out into the cold November air. It was humid, smelling pleasantly of rain. He pulled the hood of his jumper over his head and closed the top button of his coat on the way to the tube.

“Today was shit. Let’s order pizza!” Louis exclaimed as he walked in the door of their shared apartment and Harry had to smile at that.

“Already placed our order,” Harry replied from his place on the couch. “Should be here in about fifteen minutes.” He heard Louis close the door and chuck off his shoes while he peeled himself out of his coat. The sounds were enough for Harry to be able to imagine his flatmate’s every move when he closed his eyes. He’d seen it enough times by now.

“So I’m not the only one who’s had a rough Thursday?” Louis asked, walking over to the couch and nudging Harry’s head with his knee when he found him sprawled out over the entire thing.

“I think the professor in my composing class is a ghost,” Harry groaned whilst lifting his upper body so Louis could slide in underneath him. “It’s like…you remember the History of Magic professor in _Harry Potter_? He died one night but didn’t notice so he just went to class and continued teaching as a ghost.” Louis settled into the sofa and softly pressed Harry’s chest down so he could lay his head in his lap. Harry heard him snort and hummed in satisfaction when Louis started carding his fingers through his hair.

“I think some of the professors from Hogwarts might’ve moved to London then,” Louis said. “My pattern cutting teacher looks oddly similar to Ms Sprout. She smells like a greenhouse, too.”

“My vocal trainer is a visual copy of Sibyll Trelawney and she looked at the bottom of my tea cup the other day. Judging by her look, she must’ve seen the bloody Grim,” Harry mused.

“Oh. I like this game! My workshop teacher looks exactly like Madame Hooch—Except for the robes. Though I wouldn’t put it past her to wear those,” Louis continued. He carefully untangled a knot in Harry’s hair.

“My guitar teacher eerily resembles Ron Weasley. He’s really cool, too,” Harry mumbled, nudging the hand on his head when it stopped scratching his scalp. He thought Louis might smile at that so he squinted his eyes to get a glimpse at the way his eyes crinkled.

“I swear to God, the guy who sold me fabric last week was a goblin. I always thought they were only allowed to work at Gringotts, but apparently not.”

Just as Harry took a breath to say something more, the doorbell rang. “Pizza time!” Louis exclaimed as he lifted Harry off his lap to get the door. Harry stood up and got plates and glasses from the kitchen. Louis always complained about how actual plates ruined the subtle taste of cardboard he associated with pizza, but Harry had an inkling he secretly liked feeling like a proper adult. Louis was in his second year of Uni, studying fashion design at Central St. Martin’s. The previous owner of their flat had graduated last year, moving back home and leaving Louis to find a new flatmate. Harry had been a bit unsure about moving in with a stranger, but Louis had been so nice when Harry came to look at the room with his sister that his doubts were immediately erased. Louis was quite fit, too…Gemma insisted that was the main reason Harry signed the lease a day after their first encounter, but that was ridiculous. It was simply how friendly Louis had been. That was all. (Maybe he’d also been wearing the tightest pair of jeans Harry had ever seen on another man…And there was a tiny chance that Louis’ arse was out-of-this-world perfect. But that definitely hadn’t influenced Harry’s decision-making process. Gemma was a liar.)

The two of them arrived back in the living room at the same time and routinely prepared their dinner. Louis put on some background music while they ate and they settled into a comfortable silence. Some might find it weird that the fashion student was responsible for the music in their apartment and the music student did the bulk of the laundry, but to them it was the most natural thing. They both enjoyed taking a small step back when they got home at the end of the day.

“I’m going home for a few days,” Louis said after dinner. He wiped his greasy fingers on a kitchen towel and took a sip of his Coke.

“Oh?” Harry looked up. “How come? Don’t you have Uni?”

“I’m leaving early on Saturday and coming back Tuesday evening. My class on Tuesday was cancelled and I’m only missing workshop on Monday. I can easily make that up by staying longer next Friday,” Louis shrugged. “It’s the twins’ birthday on Saturday and I thought I’d surprise them.”

“Which twins?” Harry asked with a smile. Louis had a lot of siblings, including two sets of twins.

“The older ones. Daisy and Pheebs,” Louis turned his head and smiled back at Harry. “They’re turning nine. I can’t believe it, honestly.”

“Soon they’ll get their Hogwarts letter and you’ll barely see them again,” Harry teased.

Louis reached over and messed up Harry’s curls with a rough hand. “Shut up,” he said, but his voice betrayed him and he sounded quite fond instead of annoyed. “Anyway, if you wanna invite someone over, that’s fine. Just don’t have any fun without me.”


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis goes to visit his family. Enter Niall and Liam, the pub and a lot of alcohol.   
> (Trigger warning for drunken thoughts, if that sort of thing makes you uncomfortable!)

Louis really did leave early on Saturday morning. Well, early for a Uni student…he left at 10 AM after a big breakfast that they pretended was a joint effort, but really it was Harry making pancakes and cutting fruit while Louis put on the kettle and threw some tea bags in Harry’s teapot. It was better if Louis stayed out of the cooking business. He’d managed to burn pasta before, for Christ’s sake!

Anyway, Louis had left earlier that day and Harry tried to occupy himself by practising guitar and writing music so he wouldn’t start sulking. He looked at the lyrics on the page in front of him and read them over. All he could think about were blue eyes that crinkled in the corners with a smile…he wrote about the sunshine and how it made their long eyelashes look pale, almost white, with the light reflecting off of them. He only knew one person with cerulean eyes and a smile that blazed like lightning, that was warmer than the sun, but he tried very hard not to think about that too much. This was just a song. Just art. Nothing to worry about...just try to find the chord that resembles the tenor of his laughter best and include it in the chorus…There it is! Harry smiled to himself in satisfaction and then frowned, when he realized he’d done it again. Stop thinking about him! Ugh.

His phone sounded off with a new text message and he scrambled to get to it. He looked at the display and grimaced at the sudden wave of disappointment that washed over him when he saw that it was just Niall.

_Come 2 the pub 2nite m8!_

_No._

A few seconds later, the tune of The Beatles’ _Here Comes the Sun_ announced Niall was calling him. He picked up after a sigh and reminded himself to be nice.

“Hi, Ni. How are you?”

“What the hell’s gotten into ya? You wanna catch these hands?” It was difficult to assess Niall’s tone over the phone with his thick Irish accent. Plus he always sounded cheerful no matter how threatening his words were.

“I’m not in the mood,” Harry replied with an eye roll.

“What do ya mean yer not in the mood? I’m playing tonight, mate! I want’cha to be there.” Niall sounded genuinely heartbroken, which was a red flag screaming at Harry to get his shit together.

“You could’ve lead with that! I’m not in the mood to watch you work behind the counter or for a regular pub night, but if you’re playing I’ll be front row, idiot.” He still sounded too down, but it was a step in the right direction.

“So yer comin’?”

“Yes, of course,” Harry promised.

“Good. Thanks, mate.” Niall paused. “And bring Louis!” he added, sounding like he was satisfied and about to hang up.

“Can’t,” Harry murmured. He heard a confused sound crackling through the speaker of his phone, encouraging him to elaborate. “Louis left for Donny this morning. He’s not coming home ‘til late on Tuesday.”

“Ah,” Niall said like that explained the running of the universe.

“Yeah.” There was a short and unusually awkward pause­—unusual because Harry had never had an awkward moment with Niall in his life. He’d never even seen Ni have an awkward moment with anyone else.

“Bring someone else then,” he demanded. “And stop sulking, fer fuck’s sake. He’s only gone for…” there was a pause in which Niall counted. “…Four days. See ya tonight.” He left Harry flabbergasted and hung up before he had the chance to say anything.

So it was obvious Harry was sulking despite his best effort not to. Maybe a pint or two with some other friends could distract him… Niall had said he should bring someone. And out of his mouth that definitely didn’t sound like a suggestion; it was more of an order. So Harry put his guitar back in its case and thought about whom he could invite. There was really only one other person in London he’d become friends with since he’d moved here over the summer. Liam was in a few of his classes at University and he was a very pleasant guy. He was the type of student that never cheated and offered to let you to copy his notes if you missed a lecture before you could even think to ask for them. They hadn’t done much together off campus yet, but if not now, when? So he texted Liam and went to his room to lie down and stare at the wall for a while. He tried to plan an outfit in his head, but he couldn’t concentrate. He kept going back to his phone, telling himself he was checking if Liam had replied, but every so often he opened his chat with Louis and started typing out a multitude of texts, which he immediately deleted again. He groaned, reaching to open the button of his jeans and turned on his stomach. Setting his timer for forty minutes, he tossed his phone to the side and closed his eyes. A nap could cure anything!

“I’ve never really understood how people can find the English weather charming,” Liam said as he hugged Harry in greeting. He shook his shoulders and ducked into the warm and dry interior of the run-down pub Harry and his friends (Harry and Louis; Niall didn’t count, as he worked here) frequented.

“Me neither,” Harry nodded sympathetically. He scanned the crowd to find Niall and grabbed Liam’s elbow to lead him through the dimly lit area. They walked straight to the star of the night, who Harry tapped on the shoulder.

“Harry!” Niall was already buzzing on pre-show adrenaline—and most likely a couple of pints—Irish blood and whatnot. “Who have ya brought?”

“I’m Liam. Nice to meet you.” Liam went to shake Niall’s hand but the latter wasn’t having any of it and embraced him instead.

“Any mate of Harry’s is a mate of mine,” he explained as he let go of the surprised Liam. “Especially if they come out with him to distract him from sulking about his _flatmate_.” There were very obvious air quotes around the word flatmate and Harry glared at Niall.

“I’m gonna go and get us something to drink,” Harry interjected before Niall could embarrass him even further. He could at least talk about him behind his back. He gently pushed Liam toward a seat at the table closest to the stage that Ni had obviously reserved for them and went off toward the bar.

Seeing as there was a huge line for drinks before the open mic night started, Harry only got back right when the first act started playing and Niall was long gone—probably waiting for his turn backstage.

“Sorry for inviting you and then leaving you to sit here all alone,” Harry apologized, setting a drink down in front of Liam.

“No worries. Niall just left a minute ago,” Liam smiled kind-heartedly. The boy always had kind eyes, but his look was even more benevolent than usual.

“Alright,” Harry sighed, taking a sip of his beer. “Spill. What did he tell you?”

“What do you mean?” Liam asked, feigning innocence or ignorance. Or both. Harry just raised his brows and waited. “Okay, fine. He told me you’re like…lovesick because your roommate went home for a few days or summat.”

“I’m not pining for Louis,” Harry said over the music becoming louder and louder in front of them.

“Oh,” Liam’s eyes widened for a second. “I didn’t know you were gay.” (Count on Niall to talk about Harry’s non-pining behind his back and forego outing him. Really, how did Niall babble out everything but remain gracefully obedient to the respectful rules of the LGBTQ community?)

Harry smirked. “I’m not gay,” he said. “I don’t like to label myself. But I am into guys sometimes.” (Louis. He was into Louis—All the time. But he didn’t even want to think those words.)

“Oh,” Liam repeated, smiling apologetically. “Sorry. That’s cool though.”

Harry nodded, turning towards the scrubby stage. They talked about music for the rest of the group’s performance, because they both knew a lot about it and valued each other’s opinions. The act was alright for a warm-up, nothing major though. (Get it? Major.) Liam went to get some more beer and came back with an additional shot just as Niall stepped on stage. They applauded wildly and Niall walked by their table to down his shot before sitting down on a barstool centre-stage.

“A shot of Jameson for the Irish fella so he can even start his gig!” Harry exclaimed, earning a round of laughs from the rest of the audience.

“Alright, Harold. Pipe down. Ya should’ve signed up if you wanted to perform,” Niall laughed into the microphone and the audio went static for a second. “Nobody steals my thunder.” Everyone laughed at that as well. “Anyway, here’s _Wonderwall_ …” There was a silent pause before Niall laughed. “Just kidding! Ye should’ve seen yer faces! This one’s called _On My Own_ …” And with another wave of delighted laughter he launched into one of his own songs.

“Please tell me Niall is a music student as well,” Liam begged, grabbing Harry’s arm with the enthusiasm of a man who’s had a few.

“Unfortunately not…At least I don’t think so. He works the bar here two nights a week and we think he has a day job, but he won’t tell us what it is. I’ve only ever seen him here or at our flat, to be quite honest,” Harry chuckled and Liam joined in.

“Either way, the next act has a lot to live up to,” he mused. “I’ve been to my fair share of open mics, but this was fantastic. Niall is fantastic!”

“Cheers!” Speak of the devil…

“Oi!” Liam grinned up at the blonde, who was still full of energy. “Eavesdropping, are we?”

With that, Harry’s friends fell into banter like they’d known each other for years. He was really happy they got along. It was nice. He nursed his third beer, but then drank it down quickly because he didn’t have much to add to the conversation. By the time he was finished, he needed a wee. Three pints on top of the shots Liam had bought were one too much.

“Wee,” he said while he got up.

He should’ve eaten. If he had eaten, he wouldn’t lose his balance quite so easily. With his eyes closed, he explored the feeling of cotton candy in his head for a second before heading towards the run-down loos at the other end of the room in as straight a line as possible. His hands automatically weaved themselves onto the backs of people’s chairs so he wouldn’t stumble. He was clumsy in his most sober state anyway. Better not risk anything, especially if his shoes were sticking to the dirty floor. Louis said he looked like a baby deer sometimes. Harry heard someone snort out a quiet laugh as he opened the door and it took him a few seconds to realize it had been him. Baby deer were cute. Maybe Louis thought Harry was cute? Louis was cute, very much so. Louis was so nice. Where was he? Oh yes. He was with his stupid sisters. No! He shook his head and felt slightly dizzy. They weren’t stupid. They were wonderful. Louis loved them very much a lot—So they had to be great. Anyone worthy of Louis’ love was great. Ah, Louis…

Harry’s thoughts were tenacious and sticky like chewing gum. When he returned to Liam and Niall, who were deep in conversation, he just flopped down and closed his eyes. There was a band playing still and he heard the guitarist slip up with a few chords. He frowned at that and opened his eyes, focusing in on his phone on top of the sticky pub table. Everything was sticky. Gross. He reached out to grab the phone, but Niall was faster.

“What’cha doin’ Harry?” Niall asked with his whole hand covering the phone. His fingers were a little red from strumming his guitar.

“’M calling Louis,” Harry replied. He had to admit that his speech was even slower than usual (as were his thoughts).

“Now why would ya do that?” Niall asked. Niall looked like he knew too much, so Harry decided to look at Liam instead, who had his head tilted sideways, like a golden retriever patiently trying to figure out what his owner wanted to tell him; Liam’s hair was too dark for a golden retriever, but his eyes were such a soft brown. He was the definition of puppy dog eyes.

“You look like a puppy,” Harry said to him. “Cute.”

“Thanks,” Liam laughed.

“I miss him,” Harry said, turning back to Niall, who looked less like a dog and more like a human. His eyes were blue, but not as enticing as Louis’. “Need to tell him that everything is sticky here.”

“Mate, it’s the middle of the night,” his friend tried to reason.

“Lou won’t mind!”

“But you will. Tomorrow.” Niall petted his head and Harry leaned into the comforting touch. He leaned all the way over so his head could rest in Niall’s neck. The edge of the table was pressing into his side uncomfortably. He ignored it. “Alright, let’s get you home, okay?”

“I don’t like home when it’s empty—when Lou is not there,” Harry mumbled into his friend’s shoulder.

“You want me to sleep over?” Niall asked, whilst Liam said something that was either about an Uber or a Roomba. Why was Liam talking about a bloody hoover? Harry nodded, though he’d forgotten what the question was, and closed his eyes. Niall rubbed his shoulder. Niall was nice. The guitarist of this band wasn’t nice. Why did he keep messing up?

“Of course the only thing you’re coherent about is the guitar in the room,” Niall laughed and his cackle sent vibrations through Harry’s pillow. Hm, it seemed like he’d said that last thing out loud. He hoped the guitarist didn’t hear him. It would’ve been so impolite to say that in front of him. His pillow shook again, but Harry remained silent for the next few minutes. (Well, maybe not entirely silent. He winced every time the guy on stage played a messy or faulty chord.)

He let Niall and Liam manhandle him into a car and was relieved to find that Niall climbed in after him.

“Goodbye Liam,” Harry called out before the door closed. “You’re very nice!” He turned to Niall. “He’s so nice,” he said to his friend before wrapping his arms around him like a vice and closing his eyes again. Niall mumbled a very familiar sounding address to the driver.


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Niall is the best, then he isn't. With his and Emma's help, Harry admits to himself that he knew what has been bugging him all along...

_Here comes the sun, doododoodo, here comes the sun…_

Since when did The Beatles sound so unpleasant? And why were they singing right in Harry’s ear? He groaned and turned towards the sound, opening his left eye to see what was going on. His phone was ringing. (So was his head.) He pushed himself up and grabbed the phone, which someone had plugged in to charge over night, and answered the call before it went to his answering machine.

“You look like shit,” Emma greeted him and he opened his eye again to glare at her. “What happened to you?”   
“Niall happened,” Harry said and his voice sounded parched. He opened his second eye and looked at the nightstand again. Niall had put painkillers and a glass of water on there as well. Niall was a saint. “He played open mic at the pub last night and I had a pint too much.” Emma laughed and Harry subtly lowered the volume of his phone. He took the pill and downed the whole glass of water. “Come to think of it… He’s probably still here. I should make him breakfast or something. Wait, I’ll just grab my headphones so I can work in the kitchen quietly.”

“Alright,” Emma whispered dramatically. “What are you making?”

“G’morning,” Niall grumbled as he walked into the kitchen.

“Oh, hey! Good morning Ni,” Harry answered as he turned away from the stove to see his friend who was standing in front of the fridge. He was barefoot in his boxers, reaching for a carton of orange juice.

“Take the earphones out Haz!” Emma said. Harry winced at her change in tone. It had been much more pleasant when she was sort of whispering into his ears, but he did as told. “Hi, Niall!”

“So that’s why yer up already,” Niall nodded towards Harry. “Hey, Emma!” Niall walked up behind Harry to see what he was cooking and wave at Emma.

“Ham and eggs with toast,” Harry said before Niall could ask.

“If I were gay, Louis would have no chance taking ya from me.” Harry pulled a face at that. Niall clapped a hand on his shoulder and pressed a loud, wet kiss onto his cheek, before laughing and hopping up on the tiny kitchen island behind him.

“Where is Louis?” Emma asked from where the phone was propped up against the backsplash. “Hasn’t he woken up yet?”

“Bold of ya to assume Louis couldn’t sleep through this—though he might wake up from the smell of bacon drafting to his room…” Niall mused. “Didn’t Curly here tell ya why he got piss drunk last night?”

“You had a gig and his friend from Uni kept buying shots,” Emma recounted. “I assumed Louis was there with you.”

“Harry Edward Styles,” Niall boomed. “Have ya been keeping tings from yer mother?”

“Answer your father, young man.” Harry really didn’t like how well Niall and Emma got along. They’d started ganging up on him when Emma first came to visit him in the city and they hadn’t stopped since. He just sighed and started plating breakfast.

“Louis went home to Doncaster for a few days and our Harry here was sulking because he’s in looove,” Niall singsonged.

“Aww.” Emma clutched her heart. “He’ll come back, Haz. Don’t worry!”

Harry handed the two plates to Niall and grabbed the cutlery and the teapot in one hand, placing Emma in a mug and taking her with him in the other. He set everything down in silence and balanced his phone against the fruit bowl on the table, Niall sauntering after him and humming to the tune of Wagner’s _Wedding March_.

“I’d really appreciate it if people stopped saying that I’m in love with my roommate,” Harry said, grabbing his fork.

“So you want us to lie to you?” Emma raised an eyebrow.

“Technically it’s not lying, it’s just withholding information,” Niall pondered.

“I hate this conversation,” Harry said, just to have said something.

“Harry, you wanted to call Louis at two in the morn’ to tell him the table at the pub is sticky,” Niall reminded him. “That table hasn’t been smooth since 1847.”

Emma laughed. “You text me the most meaningless and random thoughts you have, but that is something that even I would find a little weird to be called about in the middle of the night.”

Harry stuffed his mouth with a bite of toast that was large enough to keep him from talking. (Some might allege he looked like a defiant child while doing so, but those sources are untrustworthy.)

“And then ya said that’cha ‘didn’t like home when it was empty,’” Niall continued. “After that you corrected yerself to say that you didn’t like it without Louis. C’mon man…”

“Harry, it’s okay. We’re not making fun of you. We’re just trying to help,” Emma said in a softer tone than before. (She was too good at interpreting the smallest changes in his facial expression—even on the tiny screen of her phone.) “I think Louis would be great for you.”

Harry stopped poking around his eggs and looked up. He took a deep breath and let it out through his nose. “Really?” he asked. “Because I think that there might be a chance that I have a tiny bit of a crush on him, possibly.”

After Harry’s confession, Niall and Emma encouraged him to try “seducing” Louis—Niall’s word choice, not Harry’s. But how did one even go about that? Harry told his friends he didn’t want to talk about it anymore, and soon after that Niall left to go do Niall things. Harry still wasn’t sure what his mate did when he wasn’t around, but he had other things to worry about. All that really mattered about the Irish bloke was that he was reliable and a good friend. There weren’t many things Harry could consciously think about so his conversation with Emma wasn’t as long as usual. Typically for her, Emma realized this and suggested ending the call so Harry didn’t have to. She told him not to overthink things (which both of them knew was good advice lost on unreceptive ears). Harry answered he would try, and that he would keep in touch.

Now, at three o’clock in the afternoon, Harry sat in front of his Composition homework and stared at the chords he’d written down the day before. They made for a good chorus to a song, but he wasn’t supposed to be singing at the presentation. The words he’d scribbled on the page were mocking him with how obviously he was into Louis…How could he not have admitted that to himself before today? None of what he’d written made sense from an outside point of view. It was just fragment after fragment of things he’d noticed about Louis, interspersed with his own giddiness and the comfort he felt around him…Then again, the only person it was supposed to make sense to was his roommate, right? Maybe if the lyrics made sense to everybody, he’d failed the whole task of writing a love song…(Only his task wasn’t to write a love song… He was supposed to compose an original piece over the remainder of the semester and show his progress to the professor every week. But that’s just details, innit?)   
After staring at the lyric sheet motionlessly for a while, overthinking until the letters swam into each other and his eyes started to get dry, he moved suddenly, turning the page and placing an empty sheet on top of it. He strummed the one chord that had the same pitch as Louis’ laugh when Harry said something surprisingly witty, and rubbed his eyes and the bridge of his nose while the note faded out. With a deep breath, he sat up straighter and began working on the composition in earnest, plucking away at the strings of his guitar until the sun went down. He only noticed its absence when he went to scribble down notes on his music sheet and failed to see the thin lines.


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everybody keeps bugging Harry about his composition... Could it be the key to solve to what's troubling his heart?

After forcing himself to stop working over one particular part of his composition for the umpteenth time, Harry had gone to bed without eating or showering or doing any other human things. His first lecture started at midday and most Mondays he allowed himself to sleep in, but today he awoke long before his 10AM alarm because of the vast emptiness of his stomach and the loud growling sounds it produced. Fine, maybe breakfast would help. (A whisper of a thought reminded Harry that this was his last full day to figure out how to tell Louis that he liked him.)

He sat, stretched his fingers and toes, and got up. The skin on his fingertips felt really dry so he quickly grabbed some lotion from his dresser and moisturized his hands on the way to the kitchen. Having managed to open the fridge with his slippery fingers, he stared into it, thinking about what he could eat that would quickly fill his empty stomach. Everything that required effort seemed overly flavoursome, as Harry felt completely bland this morning. He settled on a bowl of porridge, tasteless and dull. The flat was too quiet (in the absence of a certain somebody), so he turned on the radio before sitting down at the kitchen table. A chipper woman presented the weather and the host of the morning show told a meaningless story from his way to work. Somehow the flat felt even emptier at that. As if that wasn’t bad enough, the song that was slowly fading in now was _You’re The One That I Want_ from Grease.

Months ago, in the first week after Harry had moved in, Louis had invited him to come along to karaoke night. Louis and some of his friends met up to sing karaoke once a month and since that night Harry always joined them. It was that first night that Harry found out how soft Louis gets when he’s drunk, how he fixes his feathery brown fringe even more delicately and talks even louder…how he demands cuddles from everyone and, oh, how warm it made Harry feel to be cuddled just as much as Louis’ childhood friend Stan. That night was also the night Harry found out Louis had starred in his school’s production of Grease. It was a given that they had to sing _You’re The One That I Want._ Lou had launched into a lengthy monologue about how he had to be the one to play Danny because that had been his role in the musical and it was the whole reason they were even singing it and talked for a whole minute before taking a breath, which was when Harry cut in. There had never been any doubt in his mind that he was made to play Olivia Newton-John as Sandy and even before he had finished explaining that, Louis had launched himself at him in a bone-crushing hug. He was pulled towards the stage shortly after that and that had been that. They’d sung it every time they went to the karaoke bar and even started to incorporate the dance moves, practising them at home. Harry smiled for a second before the taste of the song became bitter in his mouth. In that moment he missed Louis so much it was a little hard to breathe and his place at the dining table suddenly felt more lonesome than alone.

So Harry grabbed his bowl and turned the radio off, pushing at the button with a little more force than necessary. He sat on the couch, placing a pillow in his lap to balance his breakfast on. The TV played reruns of _Malcolm in the Middle_. Time seemed to stand still while Harry slowly shoved spoon after spoon of lukewarm oat-mud into his mouth and stared at a spot above the telly. He was sure he was slowly going insane. But what was he supposed to do? Seemingly anything and everything reminded him of Louis. Drinking on Saturday had only made his yearning to see him worse. Composing managed to occupy his mind, but he was scared to look at what he’d created last night—afraid to see how sappy and obvious it must be. Food tasted horrible. (Although one could argue that was his own fault. Even the thought of adding sugar and cinnamon to his oat-slush gave him heartburn.) Everything sucked.

He’d stared at the wall for long enough that the voices on the telly blurred together to a single background noise and he ran out of the cold porridge he’d been mindlessly eating for an indeterminable amount of time. He ran on autopilot now, doing the dishes, taking a shower, and walking to class.

When Harry arrived on campus, he was still completely detached from the world around him, a slight buzz in his ears and his head filled with a heavy cotton, shielded from his own thoughts and feelings as well as everyone around him by a heavy velvet curtain. He jumped when someone tapped his shoulder.

“Hey mate! You didn’t respond to my text yesterday. Did you survive the hangover alright?” Liam’s cheery voice dug its way through the layers of distance Harry had created around himself and it took a second to understand he was being addressed—And then another moment until he grasped the meaning of the words. Liam just smiled and waited. (Good puppy. Harry should give him a treat when his existential crisis is over.)

“Uh,” Harry started intelligently. “I was alright. Woke up before Niall, actually. And made breakfast. I think Niall had me drink a bunch of water before bed and he left me a glass and Ibuprofen on the nightstand.”

“He’s a good lad,” Liam smiled.

“Yeah.”

“How’s the composing homework coming along?” Harry winced at the mention of that. “I was thinking maybe we could sign up for a practice room to go to after class…I’d like to hear your opinion on mine.”

Hm…it wasn’t like Harry had anything else to do, or someone to go home to. They only had two lectures today and now that he’d escaped his cotton confinement, he was slightly afraid of being alone with his thoughts (or lack thereof) again. Liam was good company, and patient. And if Harry didn’t want to play him his piece, he wouldn’t pressure him. So he shrugged.

“Sounds good. Let’s go right away. We have plenty of time anyway, and on top of that Professor Caldwell is always late.”

Harry had scribbled his and Liam’s names into the sheet in the door of practice room eight. It wasn’t the best one, but it was the only one left for their time slot, so they had to make do. It had a piano and a guitar in it and those were the most important things. Harry would always feel weird playing a strange guitar, but he didn’t really intend on playing Liam his piece. The smaller room was more comfortable for Harry anyway and he sort of liked that it was a little stuffier. The faint afternoon light wasn’t enough to light up the room so Liam flicked the light switch. A warm glow emitted from the old lamp on the ceiling and Harry walked in, setting down his mug of tea on top of the piano.

“There’s a perfectly good table right next to the piano, Harry,” Liam chided and closed the door.

“But it gives the room more ambience this way,” Harry said, dramatically leaning against the side of the piano. He always kept a mug in his locker because he didn’t like to drink out of paper cups. It was wasteful and it just didn’t feel right. (And the little ladybugs on the mug reminded him of his mum, the thought of whom always made him smile.)

“Sure,” Liam gave in easily and launched into an explanation about his piece and why he was stuck. Harry found it surprisingly easy to focus on that. He nodded along and told Liam to play him what he had up until now. Liam sat down on the small bench and played. It was very impressive, much more complicated than what Harry had written. He closed his eyes to focus on the music instead of the fingers quickly dancing across the keys. Harry could hear where Liam got stuck and furrowed his brows as the last notes faded out.

“You told me so much about how you composed, but not about why,” Harry said slowly. “What’s the story? What am I supposed to feel?” He smiled. “Other than impressed. Because that was very impressive, Li.”

“Thanks.” Liam smiled at his hands for a second before it was his turn to furrow his brows. “I don’t know what it’s about, really…”

Harry could tell that Liam did have a thought. “I’m sure you had an image in mind or something,” Harry encouraged.

“Okay,” Liam sighed. “Have you ever been to Wolverhampton?” Harry shook his head no. “Well, in West Park there’s this greenhouse, the West Park Conservatory…I used to go there with my grandpa a lot when I was a kid—Just to sit there, across from it on a bench by the pond. We would go all throughout the year, but my favourite was always spring. That’s what I think I started from.” Finally, Liam looked up from his hands to find Harry smiling at him.

“That sounds lovely,” he nodded. “So what you have now is exciting. It’s sort of buzzing with life, yeah? Maybe you could focus in on the bench next?” Harry rubbed his forehead. “To me it sort of sounds like up until now, there wasn’t any point of focus. You were just taking in the surroundings. You should sit down and look at you and your grandpa and what the two of you are like…” He ended a bit unsure of himself. “I don’t know if this is your approach, though. I’ve always considered composing as sort of telling a story or setting the stage for something. Just tell me if I’m spouting nonsense.”

Liam chuckled quietly and nudged Harry’s leg with his knee. “That’s just like you,” Liam shook his head lightly. “Only you would say the most helpful thing and then call it nonsense in the end.” Harry shrugged with a sheepish smile and Liam turned around on the bench to start playing again.

At some point Harry had sat down on the rickety old desk chair in the room, the wooden seat creaking with each movement he made, however minuscule. The tea in his mug was long cold, but he kept sipping at it anyway while he listened to Liam play. (He’d heard somewhere that cold tea was supposed to make you more beautiful…Or was it cold coffee?) His fingers ached to be playing something as well, Liam’s composition was uplifting and encouraging. Harry had expected it to get a little sad with homesickness, but it was just reminiscent of a simple childlike enjoyment.

“Alright, that’s it for today,” Liam yawned while stretching his arms above his head. “I think I have more than enough to show for this week.”

Harry nodded, throwing a dimpled smile Liam’s way before leaning down to grab his bag.

“Hold on.” Liam halted Harry with a hand on his shoulder. “Do you maybe want to look over yours too? I’m just hogging all of our time…”

“Oh, um,” Harry stuttered. “I do-I don’t know…It’s not much yet,” he lied, sitting up. He searched Liam’s face for…something. He looked for any reason not to play his composition to him, but all he could find were kind brown eyes. They almost looked apologetic for being the centre of attention for the past hours.

“Please,” Liam begged. This time, Harry thought cryptically, the puppy eyes must’ve been on purpose.

“Alright, what the hell… I’ll play it.”

Liam clapped his hands excitedly while Harry rummaged around his bag for his sheets. He looked around and shrugged at the sudden urge he felt to make himself comfortable. Pushing the bench of the piano to the wall and rearranging some music stands, he sat down on the floor and spread the sheets out in a semi circle.

“Would you hand me that guitar please?” he asked Liam, who’d been watching him with a bemused smile, but had taken his seat in the desk chair silently. Just as wordlessly, he handed Harry the acoustic guitar from the opposite side of the narrow room.

“Thank you. The beginning’s kind of rough still,” Harry explained. It really didn’t make him feel more at ease that the part he’d been mulling over was right at the start.

“You want to tell me about it?” Liam asked, and instead of sitting back down in the chair, he sat down by the wall opposite of Harry, in place of the guitar Harry was tuning. Harry watched him pull his legs up as he leaned against the wall and rested his hands on his knees.

“Not really,” Harry answered. “I’m just gonna play, okay?”

When Liam nodded and closed his eyes, Harry took a deep breath and began to play.  
The beginning sounded very unsure still, but just as the music started to feel a little lost, the melody found itself, and the realisation hit. That was the part when he’d felt like the penny had finally dropped, when he’d understood, no—admitted to himself—that he had feelings for Louis. But just as fast as the realisation had come, he was losing himself in the thoughts about Louis again. The theme was the same, but now Harry understood why he missed him so much and he let himself feel all the things he’d not allowed himself to feel before. This was where he played with all the bits and pieces he’d written on Saturday. He explored what he’d written when thinking about the crinkles by Lou’s blue eyes, and that perfect tone of his laughter…And then it turned to a wistful melody, deeper, almost like the impending doom he was feeling at what the hell he should do about this. That’s when he stopped. He had a few more lines of distraught thoughts but he wanted to spare himself that. He looked up after he’d plucked the final note and waited for Liam to open his eyes.

“Harry,” he said, his eyes still closed, his voice feathery light.

“Yeah?”

“Oh,” Liam paused and finally opened his eyes. They were glistening suspiciously in the warm light of the single lamp above their heads. “Have you told him yet?”

“Who?” Harry said, automatically, even though he knew that they both knew. Liam raised his brows. “No.” Harry sighed and placed the guitar on the floor next to him. “We’ve barely texted the past few days. His sisters keep him from the phone when he’s there. And by the time they’re all in bed he’s too tired to text me more than a few sentences about his day.”

“You should play this for him once he gets back.”

“I don’t know…I mean, you sort of got it, but only because you already suspected it, right? He’s not into music like us…—Like, instrumental, I don’t think it’d be enough,” Harry frowned.

“That?” Liam asked. “What you just played me? Not enough? I swear to you even when I lose my hearing to old age, I will hear how this is about love.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Clearly that’s what you’ve been doing too much of,” Liam teased. “But really, he deserves to know.”

Harry hummed. “You’re a good friend, Liam Payne,” he said in lieu of anything else to proclaim.


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry has some troubles with jealousy, but he really has no time to dwell on that, as he has to come up with a plan to confess his newly found feelings to his flatmate.

Tuesday morning was torture. Harry had tried to go to sleep at a reasonable time, but his thoughts kept him up late. And then Louis sent him his nightly text, telling him about how he’d met up for coffee with Zayn in Manchester— Stupidly handsome Zayn, the previous owner of their apartment, who was now working at a law firm up north. Zayn, whom Harry had only met once, had a perfect smile, a quiff like he’d cut it out of a magazine (probably using his cheekbones and his sharp jawline to cut it out with), and stupidly long eyelashes framing his ever-brooding ochre eyes. Harry had never disliked him—in fact, he’d found him very nice the one time they’d met, but now he was enemy number one to Harry, who felt a deep venomous jealousy rising up in his belly. Harry didn’t even know if Zayn was interested in guys, but just the fact that he got to see Louis when Harry didn’t gave his name an acidic aftertaste. He’d tossed and turned all the way into the early hours of the morning before falling into a restless sleep.

He barely made it to his first class in the morning and he felt like a wreck.

“What happened to you?” Liam asked as Harry let himself fall into the seat next to him and scrambled to open his notebook before the class started. Apparently he looked the part of a wreck too.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Harry sighed. “Louis hung out with stupid handsome Zayn yesterday.”

“Who’s handsome Zayn?”

“The guy who used to own our apartment, Louis’ old roommate. He was a law student and he moved to Manchester to start a job at a law firm there. Apparently he had a whole bunch of time to spare and took the train to Donny,” Harry hissed as the professor started the lesson.  
Liam started to scribble in his notebook and slid a piece of paper over to Harry, like they were in grade school.

 _“Why are you so worried about this Zayn person?”_ it read.  
_“Stupid. Handsome. Face.”_ Harry wrote down. _“And he’s nice.”_  
_“So what? You’re the nicest.”_ Harry read along as Liam wrote, nudged him and raised an eyebrow. Liam sighed. _“And the handsomest.”_ They both giggled and caught a disapproving look from the professor.  
_“He’s the son of Aphrodite and I’m like…Medusa. After the curse.”_

Liam just rolled his eyes dramatically and turned to focus on the lecture. But maybe Liam was right. So what if they had met for coffee? Zayn was in Manchester and he and Louis had been roommates for two years before Harry even came into the picture. If they’d been interested in each other, they’d have gone for it then. (At least Harry sincerely hoped they hadn’t just caught on to their feelings like he had.)

Harry had a free period before his practise session with Ed. (The guy who looked like Ron Weasley, remember? Harry thought about walking into the room and saying, “You must be a Weasley” in Draco Malfoy’s voice, but decided against it. Ed had probably heard that a million times in the past—however many years it had been since that movie came out.)  
His stomach grumbled, agreeing with how stupid that joke he’d just thought of would be—or maybe it was telling him how stupid it had been to skip breakfast. Either way, Harry grabbed his mug and took off towards the campus refectory. Neither the tea nor the scone he’d gotten had any particular taste to them, as Harry thought about how he still didn’t know what to do about Louis tonight. Just like he’d smelled Harry’s distress, Niall texted him.

_Sooo… whats the plan for 2nite, love bug?_

Harry snorted and typed a response.

_Trying to come up with something… Have a free period rn. U up for a call?_

And sure enough, Niall texted him a thumbs-up emoji. So he called.

“What’s up, Haz?” Niall asked.

“Nothing, just didn’t feel like discussing important details of my love life over text. And I have no clue what the hell I should do tonight,” Harry said in a low voice. He heard a few voices over the line and it sounded like people were clasping hands, saying goodbye. There was a fragment that sounded like Niall saying “Great work today, lads.”

“Sorry, what were ya saying?” Niall spoke into the phone again. “How d’ya still not have a plan?”

“Where are you?” Harry asked in return.

“Doesn’t matter. I have time for you now, promise,” Niall said, and it sounded like he closed a door. Harry shrugged. (For some reason Frodo’s face from Lord of the Rings came to his mind, when he said, “alright then, keep your secrets.”)

“Okay,” Harry nodded, even though he was on the phone. “I really don’t know what to do. Like, what if he likes someone else?” (He was fully aware of how childish that sounded, but his day had started off with him and Li giggling like school girls so what did he expect?)

“Like who?” Niall asked patiently.

“I don’t know… Like freaking Zayn with his brooding eyes and his leather jacket and his perfect fucking face?”

Niall laughed. He just started cackling. As if Harry hadn’t just spent a full night tossing and turning at the thought of this. “Zayn?” he managed to get out before another fit of laughter.

“Yeah,” Harry said weakly because now he felt ridiculous as well.

“Listen,” Niall started after a deep breath. “Even if Zayn weren’t engaged, he’s still straight and in bloody Manchester.”

“Zayn is straight?” Harry asked to hide his relief. “Now that’s a bloody loss for half the world then,” he added, feeling generous now because the guy wasn’t a real threat to him anymore.

“How’d ya even think of him? I haven’t seen that guy in ages…”

“Yeah, well. Louis saw him yesterday,” Harry murmured and Niall made an “ah” sound. “Anyway, now that’s out of the way, I still don’t know if he likes me back. Or how I should tell him.”

“Have ya ever thought of just…ya know, saying it?” Niall said and something creaked in the background followed by a quiet thud. (Where the hell was he?)

“Very helpful, Niall,” Harry shot back sarcastically. “Jesus, I hadn’t even considered that.”

“Alright. Keep the sarcasm, I don’t need it.” Something rustled on the other end of the line and a phone rang. “Hold on for a sec, will ya?”

Harry just hummed in agreement and then heard Niall pick it up in a tone he’d never heard from him before. He sounded a bit like Harry’s father, when he answered business calls, all low and professional. Harry couldn’t really make out the words of the conversation, but it ended with Niall saying, “I don’t care. They can come in when I’m ready,” rather loudly. Niall sighed and picked up his mobile.

“Alright,” Harry started before Niall could even get out a single word. “Cut the shit. Where the hell are you, mate?”

Niall sighed again. “I’m in my office,” he mumbled, almost like it was embarrassing.

“Excuse me?”

“I’m in my office,” Niall repeated, slower and louder this time.

“You’re in your what now?” Harry was incredulous. “I’m sorry, but what the actual fuck? How come you’ve never told us you have an office?”

“Listen, mate, I’ve only got five more minutes,” Niall said. “It’s either I explain all of this to you, or we come up with what you do tonight. And I’ll still have an office when Louis is back.”

“Okay, but I won’t forget about this,” Harry said quickly. “So I talked to Liam yesterday and I played him the composition I’d been working on all weekend and he said I should play it to Louis? But like… I don’t know how to even go about that and I don’t think that’ll be enough.”

“Ah, I saw that on yer desk when I pu’tcha to bed,” Niall mused. “The melody was interesting, the lyrics were just cheesy though.”

“I’m going to ignore that you snooped around my stuff because this is important,” Harry grumbled. “I ditched the lyrics and used some of that for the composition assignment I have for the rest of the semester. Anyways, I don’t know how to go about playing it? Please help me. I’m so hopelessly frustrated. I’ve never done anything like that before.”

“Jesus, alright. Breathe,” Niall said calmly. “I said five minutes, not five seconds. How about ya make ‘im dinner first? Light one of them scented candles he pretends to hate but secretly loves.”

“The orange ones?”

“Nah, the vanilla cinder ones that kinda smell like yer cologne,” Niall corrected. “He’ll notice something’s up anyway. Yer poker face is shite. Just tell him ya missed ‘im and whatever else ya manage t’get out and play the piece after dinner.”

“Do you think he’ll understand the piece? How am I supposed to make it clear that it’s about him? — or for him? Do I just say that? And what do I cook?” Harry forgot to breathe again.

“Tell him it’s for him, or that ya thought about ‘im when ya composed it. That’s even better. And just cook whatever he likes. C’mon Harry, don’tcha know what he likes?” Harry heard a door open on Niall’s side of the line. “Alright. I’ve gotta go now. Goodbye, Mr Styles,” Niall said in his business voice.

“Okay. Bye, Niall! Thanks so much,” Harry rushed to say before Niall hung up.

So, he was still utterly fucked, but at least he sort of knew what he had to do tonight. Louis liked homemade meals; he specifically liked Harry’s cooking. Harry thought about classic English dinners on his way to Ed’s… He couldn’t make a full-on roast from scratch in the time he had. Louis wasn’t big on fish, so fish and chips also fell flat... How about Shepherd’s pie? No, too complicated. Finally, Harry started thinking about things he’d cooked before, that Louis had enjoyed and settled on his homemade spaghetti Bolognese. It was simple enough and guaranteed to suit Louis’ tastes. He started thinking up a shopping list, but couldn’t finish it by the time he was on the other side of campus. He knocked on the door to Ed’s office/classroom.

“Come in,” Ed sounded from the other side of the door. “How are you doing?”

Harry just huffed in response and started unpacking his guitar.

“Not great, then,” Ed snickered. “I see.”

“I slept like shit last night,” Harry explained. “How are you?”

“Can’t have been too bad, you’re still polite,” Ed laughed. “I’m doing alright, thank you.” He paused and walked over to sit in his usual teaching spot, guitar always just an arm’s length away. “I heard you have to present composition homework on Friday.”

Harry groaned. “Why won’t anybody leave me alone about this?” (Though maybe it wasn’t bad to practise it if he wanted to play it for Louis tonight.) Harry got up to get the sheets from his bag.

“Just play it once. Honestly, I’m just interested to hear what you’ve written,” Ed said. “We’ll go back to practising the _Concierto de Aranjuez_ after.”

Harry nodded and prepared to play in silence. Even though it felt more clinical to play the piece by daylight and in his trainer’s office, he still got into it pretty quickly. The middle part of what he had composed up until now was the part he knew best. He closed his eyes for a few seconds, before looking back down at the notes. At the beginning, he was focusing on playing it clean and flawless for his teacher, but that part was just so full of passion that he couldn’t help laying his soul out and threading it with emotion. Unlike for Liam the day before, he finished the wistful part as well. It was very quiet other than the last notes filling out the air in the room. Harry only noticed he hadn’t been breathing when he heard Ed take a deep breath.

“That was pretty good, Harold,” Ed teased. “I think the beginning part is a bit too long, but this is only the first chapter of the composition. You’ll have plenty of time to revisit that later. Some parts are unbearably sweet.”

Harry laughed. “You don’t even know half of it.”

“I’m interested to see where you take this.”

“Me too,” Harry sighed, pulling his papers together. “I guess we’ll just have to wait and find out.”

After that, they really focused on the concerto Harry had been working on for the last few weeks. Ed was fun and easy to work with. He made it easy to forget that he was a faculty member Harry was supposed to be respectful towards. Their personalities complimented each other in a fun way. Sometimes it was Ed who got carried away with the banter and Harry had to steer him back to focus on their lesson. Time always flew by when they worked together and soon enough Harry had to pack up his stuff.

“Hey, Harry,” Ed said when Harry was already by the door with his hand on the knob. “Whoever it is you’re writing for, they would be stupid not to say yes.”


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis comes back home. Finally.

Harry was still a nervous wreck. The pasta sauce was simmering on the stove and he’d already hopped in the shower, but he was standing in the kitchen in his underwear, trying to figure out an outfit that looked casual enough for him to have worn it to Uni but sexy enough to put his best assets forward. He mindlessly swirled the wooden spoon around the sauce, staring at nothing and thinking about everything. The outcome of this evening was going to either lift him to unknown heights or—the much scarier option—break his heart. After another minute of stirring, Harry realized the sauce was as good as ready and turned off the hob.

Still not knowing what to wear, he decided to mess with his hair a bit before going into his bedroom to get dressed. He’d been trying to tame his shoulder-long curls for so long he almost missed Louis’ text indicating that he got off the train and would arrive in ten or so minutes. Now his heart was rushing again. He ran to the bedroom and pulled out what Louis referred to as his “Fuck Me Jeans.” He usually wore them to go out, but if Louis called them that, it couldn’t hurt to wear them, right? They were skin-tight and black, ripped across the knees. He paired them with a casual t-shirt to make it look like he wasn’t trying too hard. (He absolutely was. He was wearing the expensive cologne Niall had mentioned earlier in the day and he’d spent over half an hour on his hair.) He quickly lit the candle on the dining table and prepared plates and wine glasses. Then he put the wine glasses back because he didn’t want it to look too romantic. He didn’t want to drink the wine he’d bought out of ordinary glasses though. (He’d spent fifteen pounds on it after all.) Maybe if he didn’t set the table and placed everything on the counter, it would look less staged? Just as he set down the plates he’d brought back from the table, he heard the lock click and the door open. Showtime!

“Honey, I’m home!” Louis called from the door, chuckling. Harry’s heart stopped for half a second before he realized Louis was only joking and he ran to the door to greet him. He misjudged the momentum with which he rounded the corner and slid on his socks, stumbling right into a laughing Louis who caught him effortlessly. They hugged and when Harry squeezed a little too tightly, Louis laughed.

“Did you miss me so much?” he teased, negating the accusation by squeezing back just as tightly.

“You have no idea,” Harry murmured and breathed in, smelling his flatmates deodorant and his laundry detergent and just him—sweet and herby and…like home. Harry quickly let go before he could get carried away and spoil his whole plan. “I made dinner.”

“That’s fantastic! I’m starving,” Louis said and leaned over to Harry as they walked out of the hall. “If you tell my mum, I will deny everything and accuse you of treason, but I missed your cooking,” he whispered conspiratorially before taking a left to throw his bag into his room. (It was a good thing he turned away because Harry was blushing beet red.)

“We have wine glasses?” was the first thing Louis said when he sauntered into the kitchen a minute later.

“Of course we have wine glasses,” Harry acted affronted. “They’re yours, actually. Or they were Zayn’s and he left them here,” he said while plating their spaghetti. How funny that Zayn’s name had tasted so sour in the morning and didn’t elicit any reaction from him now. He took the glasses in one hand, carefully tucking the opened bottle he’d already used for the sauce to his ribs and taking his plate with the other hand. “Can you bring the cutlery?”

“Sure,” Louis said, turning to the cutlery drawer. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen those glasses before. Are you sure they’re not yours, Mister This-Kitchen-Isn’t-Equipped-To-My-Standards?”

Harry laughed, sitting down and placing the candle a little further down the table so it wouldn’t be as obvious. (He might’ve called attention to the fact that there even was a candle by doing so, but who knows…)

“Shut up and enjoy this exquisite wine we’re going to be drinking out of them instead, will ya?” Harry filled both their glasses. “Bon appetite, Louis!” he said with a thick French accent, which earned him a kick in the shin under the table. He just threw a blinding smile at Louis and started eating.

All the way through dinner he made polite conversation, asking about Louis’ family and his trip. (Maybe he asked a few extra questions about his eldest sister, Charlotte—Lottie rather. Harry was just as fond, if not even fonder, of Lottie as Louis was of Gemma.) Their meal neared its end as Louis leaned back in his seat with a sated smile that made Harry’s heart swell. They both took a sip of their wine.

“Alright,” Louis said, raising his left eyebrow and looking at Harry expectantly. Harry looked back, feigning innocence but his flatmate immediately saw through his thinly veiled act, so Harry looked down at his fingers, which were crossed on the table, instead.

“What?” he asked.

“Oh, come off it!” Louis nudged his foot under the table to get him to look back up. “You basically made me a candlelit welcome back dinner! I know I’m wonderful to have around and you probably missed me, but there must be something else…”

Harry sighed. So the candle hadn’t gone unnoticed. His poker face really was shit. Here goes nothing…

“Remember that composition homework I told you about?” he asked. Louis nodded, brows furrowing in confusion. Harry’s glance went back down to his fingers. “Yeah, so… I wrote something and I was wondering if you’d like to hear it?” He finally looked up to see Louis look had softened.

“You know that I don’t really know about music though, right? I’d love to hear it, of course, but I don’t really see why you’d pick me?” His expression was open as he voiced his confusion.

“Well, you see… um… here’s the thing, right?” Harry stuttered, rubbing his temples. He looked at Louis, who was patiently waiting for him to finish instead of nagging him on for once. “Fuck it. I’m gonna say it, okay?” There was a little sparkle in Louis’ eyes anytime Harry cursed and it wasn’t different this time either. He just smiled and nodded encouragingly. “Right.” Harry shook his head and tried to focus. “So the thing is. I thought about you when writing it so I think you should hear it,” he said really fast, uncharacteristically so. Louis froze, speechless (which was also incredibly out of character.)

“You wrote a composition…for me?” he asked quietly. Harry nodded.

“So, do you want to hear it?” he asked after a pause.

“Yes, you knob! Of course I wanna hear it!” Louis kicked Harry’s leg again and it felt like he’d jumpstarted him to get up.

He led the way to the couch and Louis followed slowly, grabbing the wine glasses. (Maybe later Harry would find out that Louis had stayed back to stare at his legs in those sinful jeans. Or maybe not.)

So Harry sat down on the couch with his guitar and put down his notes in front of him, even though he barely needed them anymore. He didn’t dare say anything more before he started so he motioned for Louis to sit next to him.

“Are you alright? You’re pale as a sheet, mate,” Louis said, placing a comforting hand on the knee that Harry wasn’t currently resting his guitar on. Harry laughed nervously and took a shuddering breath. Any attempt to calm himself was futile now. This was worse than stage fright. He might have his heart broken in a few minutes.

“You know I’m absolutely gonna love it, right? Even if it’s crap, which I know it isn’t, I will love it just because you wrote it… for me.” Louis soothingly traced the hem of where Harry’s jeans were ripped and played with a longer piece of thread for a second. (At least Harry’s face wasn’t drained of colour anymore. He was blushing profusely.)

“You wrote a song for me,” he repeated incredulously.

“Yeah,” Harry breathed, closing his eyes for a second before looking at Louis. “I did,” he said, trying to convey what he was going to play in a few seconds with just his eyes. He felt himself relax as he stared at Louis and found him staring back. His fingers were still drawing senseless patterns on Harry’s exposed skin.  
Harry looked away with a deep sigh and started playing. He played with even more emotion than he’d had when composing the piece… feeling every single note at the beginning being unsure and confused until the coin dropped and the melody turned less confused and more sweet. So, so sweet… Like the honey colour Louis’ skin had had in summer, when they first met. Softer than the rose petals Harry had photographed a few weeks after that, denying to himself that he’d done it because their colour reminded him of Louis’ lips and the way they moved when he talked. It was almost unbearable to himself how he felt the sun shine through every sound of Louis’ laughter and how white his eyelashes looked when the light reflected off of them. He had a million versions of Louis in his mind as he played, even more than when he was composing. He didn’t dare look up as he slowly faded into the unsure part, the wistful uncertainty he’d experienced all day. His fingers danced across the strings until he reached the final note and let it fade out.

There’d been a ringing silence in the room for about seven seconds, when Harry cleared his throat and looked over to Louis—Louis, who quickly wiped a tear from his cheek and sniffled quietly; Harry placed his guitar on the floor and turned towards Louis. He pulled his legs up onto the sofa and hugged his knees. Louis sat opposite him with his legs crossed, staring at him with glossy eyes.  
Harry noticed that Louis didn’t have any product in his hair today. He’d been so transfixed on Louis’ eyes that he hadn’t even looked at the way his fringe swooped lightly across his forehead.

“Are you… Do you…” Louis tried to form a sentence before giving up and shaking his head.

“Yeah?”

“Um… Well, first of all, that was wonderful, Harold,” Louis tried for a light tone, but his voice cracked at the nickname.

“Thank you,” Harry said quietly, his own voice but a low whisper, muffled because his face was resting against his knees.

“Harry,” Louis said and he looked…longing? (Or was Harry projecting his own feelings as he looked at Louis’ lips?)

“Harry, is that…a love song?”

Harry looked at Louis with big eyes and shifted under Louis’ intense gaze. There was no use denying it now. Cards on the table.

“Yes,” he said, releasing his hold on his knees to remove the wall his subconscious had built in fear of what Louis would think and say. Before he could say anything more, Louis surged forward and held his face with both hands, squishing his cheeks.  


“You idiot,” Louis said, leaning even more towards Harry. Was he going to kiss him? Had it actually worked? Did he feel the same? “You complete and utter fool.” What? Why was he insulting him now? Harry’s mind went blank as Louis leaned closer and closer. Their noses brushed and Harry stopped breathing.

“Idiot,” Louis repeated before firmly pressing his lips against Harry’s. There was a moment of shock, even after the anticipation, and then Harry felt pure bliss until Louis pulled away a second after. Harry mindlessly followed and leaned with him before pouting and taking Louis’ hands from his face to hold them in his lap.

“Why didn’t you say something earlier?” Louis accused. “I’ve been pining after you for weeks.”

“You…” Harry looked up from their intertwined fingers. “You what?”

“I’ve been complaining to Niall for weeks…I never knew if you were into me or...”

“That little shit!” Harry exclaimed, cutting Louis off. “He knew you liked me and he listened to me complain about how scared I was that you wouldn’t reciprocate my feelings. I’m going to murder him.”

Louis laughed. “I’ll help you bury the body,” he said, before slipping his fingers out of Harry hold and surging forward once again, pushing Harry onto his back.

“Oi,” Harry laughed. “Is this the part where we snog until we can’t feel our lips? Because that was my top outcome for how this night could’ve gone.”

“You did your hair,” Louis noted as he leaned onto his left hand and threaded his fingers through the soft curls. “And you’re wearing the Tom Ford cologne,” he further accused. Harry nodded. “You lit a candle and you cooked one of my favourite meals for me.”

“I bought a fifteen pound bottle of wine,” Harry threw in, giggling.

Louis whistled. “And don’t think I didn’t notice those jeans,” he whispered before lowering himself from his planking position and laying completely on top of Harry, breathing in his neck, pressed together from head to toe. It wasn’t the first time they’d laid sprawled all over each other like this, there was comfort in being this close, but it was the first time it meant something. Harry’s heart was beating heavily. He wondered if Louis could feel it with his chest pressed so close to it. Harry circled his arms around Louis and held him close as he twisted so they were laying down and facing each other.

“You were meant to notice the jeans,” Harry said. “I thought it might up my chances.”

“Idiot,” Louis shook his head lightly, but pushed his leg between Harry’s so their thighs were slotted together.

“Are you going to say that every time you want to kiss me or…” And Harry was cut off by Louis kissing him again, softly, but with just enough pressure. Harry sighed happily and traced Louis’ cheekbone with his fingertip, closing his eyes. The best possible outcome.


	7. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a sweet little epilogue to tie up the loose ends...

It was Friday night. Louis had dragged Harry out to the pub after he’d told him about how impressed the professor had been with his composition. Well, first he’d insisted on celebrating in their flat by ordering copious amounts of greasy food and watching Grease. (Because “those two things just go together.”)  
And then after, they snogged for about as long as it took the DVD menu music to repeat itself four times. So it really had been fairly late when they’d stumbled in the door of the pub, arm in arm.

“Oi,” Niall yelled from behind the bar. “Is it true or are me eyes betrayin’ me?”

“Shut up,” Harry and Louis said at the same time as they heaved themselves onto some bar stools. Harry basked in the soft warmth radiating from his right knee, which was pressed firmly against Louis’.

“Two pints,” Louis said. “Actually, make it three. We’re celebrating, asshole!”

“What are we celebrating?” Niall asked as he turned towards the tap. “That the two of you finally got yer shit together?”

“I’m still mad at you by the way,” Harry noted. He said thank you when Niall handed him his beer though.

“I can sense that, what with how hostile you’re being,” Niall laughed.

“To Harry’s composition being the best thing to ever grace the ears of that professor!” Louis exclaimed as they toasted each other.

“Hear-hear,” Niall nodded before taking a drink. Harry could feel a blush creeping onto his cheeks but that had been more or less constant since Tuesday night so he shrugged it off.

“So, why are ya mad at me, Harold?” Niall leaned forward on his elbows and ignored another bloke who wanted to get drinks, pointing him over to the new guy.

“There’s two reasons,” Louis supplied.

“First of all,” Harry stared intently at a piece of hair sticking in the opposite direction of Ni’s quiff.

“You let me worry about whether Louis liked me back, when you knew for a fact that he did.”

“Very cruel,” Louis nodded. “My boy didn’t deserve to suffer like that.”

Niall opened his mouth to say something but Harry continued. “And secondly, how the fuck do you have an office? Why did we not know about that?”

“And why did Harry say you sounded embarrassed about it? What the fuck, mate?” Louis went on.

“Okay,” Niall sighed. “This whole ‘finishing each others sentences’ bit was already weird when you two were just friends… But this is taking it to a whole new level. And I don’t even think you’re doing it on purpose.” Niall took a sip of his beer. “Don’t know if that makes it better or worse either.”

“How about you defend yourself instead of attacking us?” Louis countered.

“Alright,” Niall took another generous drink from his pint and turned towards Harry. “I’m really sorry I didn’t tell you about Louis liking you back. I didn’t think it was my confession to make.”

Harry huffed, but nodded. “Thanks. Apology accepted.”

“I’m gonna be mad for about another two minutes I think, but I’ll let you know when it’s over,” Louis threw in.

“Cheers!” Niall swallowed before going on. “So… About my job… What d’ya want me to tell you?”

“Everything,” came another unanimous response. Harry and Louis turned towards each other with sparkling eyes. Niall mocked that he had to vomit.

“Jesus, stop it with the creepy shit,” Niall murmured. “Um, I work for my dad? He has this record company called _Horan 66_?” A short silence followed as Harry and Louis computed the information.

“What in the hell are you doing behind the bar in a shabby pub like this then?” Harry asked rather loudly—And apologized when he heard the owner telling him to watch his mouth from the back room.

“I do this for fun,” Niall said, a little shier than usual. “I like the open mics and I scout new talent here sometimes for me dad? Plus I love getting t’know folks and I wanted to make some money that wasn’t from me dad.”

“That…” Louis cleared his throat. “That’s fairly reasonable.”

“So what exactly do you do, if you have your own office?” Harry asked. “And why did you never mention this before?”

“I do some admin, but mostly I just leave the scheduling and all that to Clara,” Niall started. “My assistant,” he clarified when the couple in front of him exchanged a confused look. “I sit in on studio sessions and write songs with some artists, sometimes I play the guitar or the piano on the tracks. I also negotiate like contracts and deals, hence the office.”

“So you’re proper important!” Louis whistled. “But tell us again, why we’re only hearing about this now?”

“I don’t know,” Niall looked both of them in the eye for a good few seconds. “I guess I didn’t want’cha to think of me differently?”

“And?” Harry raised his brows, sensing that there was more.

“I’m sorry,” Niall sighed and downed the rest of his beer before looking at Harry again. “When ya told me you were studying music the alarm bells went off in me head.” Harry looked hurt and Louis reached over to comfort him with a hand on his thigh. “I know now that yer not the type to try to use me for a connection, but I’d had enough bad experiences with people that I kept it a secret and then it was kinda too late t’say something?”

“I would never try to use you,” Harry said with big eyes. “You’re one of the only friends I’ve made here and I genuinely like you. I wouldn’t want to ruin that.”

“I know, I know,” Niall shook his head. “I’m really sorry.”

Louis looked at Harry for a long moment before turning back to Niall. “I’ve forgiven you for the previous thing, but this one might take a day or two.” Harry’s laugh was a broken little sound, but it made Louis smile.

“Can you come out from behind there for a second?” Harry asked so quietly that he could barely be head over the sound of the last few patrons chatting, their volume having risen with each glass they’d emptied.

“Should I be scared?” Niall asked, walking towards the end of the bar.

“Yes,” Louis said.

“No,” Harry said at the same time. He grabbed Louis’ hand while they waited for their friend to arrive and tiredly leaned on his boyfriend.

Niall stepped in front of them and Harry stood up straight. He eyed Niall’s rueful posture and the sad look in his eyes for a suspenseful moment, before stepping forward and wrapping him up in a tight hug.

“Oof,” Niall let out.

“I get it,” Harry whispered. “It’s okay. No more secrets from now though, okay?” He leaned back to look into his eyes again.

“Promise,” Niall said and hugged Harry again.

“Are you two quite finished?” Louis chuckled from beside them. “I’m getting jealous over here.” He pinched Harry’s bum and the ensuing shriek ended the sweet moment once and for all. Harry and Niall broke apart and Louis immediately placed an arm on Harry’s shoulder, even though he was shorter.

“Alright,” Niall laughed. “You two are disgusting, this pose is ridiculous and I’ve created a monster. Now tell me exactly how everything went down!”

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you thought in the comments or drop by on [my tumblr](https://evilovesyou.tumblr.com/)! xx  
> If you liked it, I would appreciate kudos or a reblog of [the fic post](https://evilovesyou.tumblr.com/post/186404618789/baby-when-youre-gone-i-realize-im-in-love-by) on tumblr.


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